Free The Truth about Us by Janet Gurtler Page A

we’re really seeing each other. My stomach is a mess. Hormone alert. I focus my gaze on his bracelet.
    â€œYou’re allergic to something?” I ask, pointing at it, the red symbol.
    He covers it with his other hand. “Nope.” He looks at me.
    The air around him is sparkling and sizzling with an invisible energy. I wonder if he knows.
    â€œIt was my dad’s,” he says softly. “He gave it to me before he died.” He hesitates. “I don’t usually tell people that.”
    â€œI’m glad you told me,” I whisper back. My whole body tingles and I wonder what the hell I’m doing. Am I flirting? In Stella’s office? But no, it’s not even flirting. Not really. I’m being honest. We’re connecting. And I realize with a flush that I want to kiss him more than I’ve ever wanted to kiss any other boy. My cheeks light up. I have a knack for the inappropriate.
    â€œJess?” Sunny pops her head into the office and crosses her arms when she sees the two of us standing together. “We need you in the kitchen.”
    I take a step away from Flynn.
    â€œStella wants you to go get Kyle,” she tells Flynn. “It’s lunchtime in minutes. Jess, come on. You need to get your scrawny butt out there.”
    Sunny waits, a hard gleam in her eyes, until I’m walking, and then she spins and leads me to the kitchen, grabs a black-and-green striped apron hanging from a hook, and shoves it in my stomach. I put it on and tie it around my waist. “The stripes are the server’s aprons.” She pushes me to the other side of the kitchen. “You have tables one to six. The family section. Get the salads to their tables first. We already sat your first group at the tables. Don’t be late again.”
    I hurry toward the dining room and rush around to get orders out, and when I hurry back to the kitchen, Kyle and Flynn are walking toward me. I step one way and Flynn steps the same way, and we do the awkward dance of stepping to the same side and then back. He laughs and then holds out his hand. “Go ahead.”
    I smile at both of them, lower my eyes, and slip past as they take a seat in my section.
    â€œJess,” Sunny calls to me as I’m grabbing bowls of soup. “Don’t mess with the people here,” she blurts out. “You are not near good enough for that boy.”
    And then she’s gone. A shiver goes up my spine.

chapter eight
    After my shift, Stella asks Wilf to walk me to the bus stop.
    â€œIt’s still daytime,” I tell her. “I’ll be fine.”
    She insists. “Don’t want your dad complaining to me later,” she says. “Wilf doesn’t mind.”
    Wilf waits for me at the door while I get my stuff from my locker. “You really don’t have to walk me,” I tell him. “God.”
    â€œYou don’t have to call me God, love,” he says. “But something tells me you might need a little assistance figuring out which bus to take.”
    I roll my eyes as we walk together through the kitchen, not wanting to admit he’s right. He’s kind of fragile-looking, but he opens the front door and waits for me to walk through. There’s a group of men sitting on the stairs out front. I try not to cringe at the smell and then recognize one of them and strain for his name. Martin. Same name as my dad. I have lots of tricks to remember people’s names.
    â€œBye, Martin,” I call nervously when he grins at me with half a mouthful of teeth.
    â€œThanks for the extra sandwich,” he calls and bows deeply. “I feel like I went to heaven today. ’Cause you’re a real angel.”
    The old guys with him groan and make jokes. I smile to show I’m perfectly calm. I don’t want to acknowledge my conviction that I don’t belong here. That I feel uncomfortable because I live in a different world. A better one.
    â€œThat was